High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5)

by Gemma Halliday

“I was wondering if you still have the number of that guy you dated at the phone company?”

  “Verizon Ted? Yeah, sure. Why?”

  I filled Dana in on my freaky phone message and subsequent calling quest as she downed the rest of her vitamin water, her eyes growing bigger as I talked.

  “So you think he was shot?” she asked when I’d finished.

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know.”

  “I bet it was the Mob. Those Mob guys are all up in Vegas.” Dana bobbed her head up and down for emphasis.

  “It wasn’t the Mob.”

  “Rico told me the Mob uses forty-five caliber Berettas for all their executions. Did it sound like a forty-five?”

  Mental eye roll. “Look, I don’t even really know if he was shot. I just think… well, it might warrant a phone call to the police to check it out. Providing I can give them some idea where to check.”

  Dana shrugged. “Okay, sure. I’ll call Verizon Ted right after my pole dancing class and see if he can get us an address.”

  “Thanks.” I handed Dana the numbers as she downed the rest of her vitamin water and trotted off to the group of eighty year old stripper-wanna-bes. I shuddered. Mostly because as they started dancing to the tune of ‘I’m Too Sexy’ I realized they were more limber than I was even after three margaritas. Depressing thought.

  * * *

  After seeing Dana I felt just a little guilty about my zillion calorie lunch and decided to do better for dinner. I made a quick stop at the Magic Happy Time Noodle for a double order of moo shoo chicken (chicken was a lean meat, right?) with rice noodles (‘cause who can get fat eating rice?) before heading back home to my studio.

  As I followed the trail of red brake lights down the 405, I tried calling the two Larry’s one more time for good measure. Same thing. Ringing at the first and that mechanical voice at number two. I thought about leaving a message, but I still didn’t quite know what to say. Instead I did a fast hang up before the machine kicked in and hoped that Verizon Ted was in a good mood tonight.

  I pulled up to my building, parking my Jeep on the street, and started up the steps to my studio, fragrant bags of Chinese food in hand. I was halfway up the stairs when the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up and I had the oddest sensation of being watched. I slowly turned around and scanned the street, my eyes immediately narrowing in on a blue Dodge Neon with a dented fender parked in front of the building next door. I couldn’t be sure it was the same one that had been tailgating Dana and I the day before, but since there where probably only two people in the entire L.A. basin that would be caught dead driving a blue Dodge Neon, I figured it was an odd coincidence.

  I walked back down the stairs, doing a causal stroll thing along the sidewalk toward the car. I was a couple of feet away when it suddenly roared to life, squealing away from the curb like some bad cop movie from the seventies. I only got the vaguest glimpse of the driver, just enough to tell it was a guy, before he disappeared down the street, taking the corner so fast his tail spun out behind him.

  If I’d believed in coincidences, I’d have said that was a doozy. Even though Mr. Neon was gone, I suddenly felt very exposed standing out in the open. I took the stairs two at a time up to my studio and locked the door behind me. Just for good measure (and because I’ve seen was too many teen horror flicks) I checked under the futon, behind the bathroom door and in the closet. Predictably no boogie men in waiting. Which, of course, made me realize how foolish I was being. The Neon probably belonged to my neighbor’s son. Probably how fast he pulled away from the curb had nothing to do with the fact I was approaching him. Probably it was a totally different car I’d seen following Dana and me.

  But I still felt I should probably keep my door locked and my Ginzu knife handy while I ate my take-out. Just in case. (Hey, I’m no dummy. The blonde always dies first in those horror movies.)

  After I polished off my Chinese in record time, I spent the rest of the evening doing half hearted sketches of the Rainbow Brite jellies in between calling the Larry numbers again. And again. With the same results each time. I hoped Dana was getting along better with Verizon Ted. Finally after Letterman I did one more round of calls before calling it a night myself. I pulled out my futon and fell into a restless sleep, visions of the Mob al la Ray Liotta invading my dreams.

  * * *

  I could swear I’d only been asleep for five minutes when the sound of my door being pounded down woke me. Only when I cracked one eye open the sun was up and my digital clock read 7:13 AM. I groaned as another knock sounded. What was it with morning people?

  Reluctantly, I rolled over, throwing off my sheets and shuffling in that half-asleep-half-awake zombie walk of those who have stayed up much too late gorging on take-out.

  “Coming,” I called as Mr. Impatience threatened to rattle my door off its hinges again.

  I squinted one half-opened eye at the peep hole.

  The sight that greeted me woke me up faster than any grande mocha latte ever could. Dark, tussled hair. Dark eyes with one small scar cutting across his left eyebrow. Tightly set jaw, dusted with sexy day-old stubble and that black T-shirt fairly painted onto a body that instantly made me feel like a dog in heat.

  Ramirez.

  Chapter Three

  Oh shit! I immediately recoiled from the door as if he could see me through the little peephole. My gaze whipped around my apartment. Clothes on the floor, empty take-out cartons on the counters, lipstick, mascara and drawing pencils scattered everywhere – not exactly Martha Stewart ready for visitors. I hated people who showed up unannounced almost as much as I hated morning people.

  Maybe if I stood really still he’d think I wasn’t home and come back later. Like, after I’d had a chance to straighten up. I did a quick sniff test of my person. Ugh. And a shower.

  “I know you’re in there, Maddie. Your Jeep’s out front.”

  Damn. I guess he didn’t make detective for nothing.

  “Open the door Maddie, or I’ll have to break it down.”

  I was 99% sure that was a bluff. But from the way he was pounding, I didn’t think it wise to risk the 1%. Reluctantly, I slipped off the security chain and opened the door.

  For a full two seconds we both just stood there staring at each other. He was wearing his trademark faded jeans, work boots, and gun-bulge tucked at his side. A tattoo of a panther flirted with me from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and his dark eyes did a slow sweep of my body that made me very aware I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet this morning. I did a dry gulp thing while I tried to decide if I hated him for not calling or loved him for finally showing up on my doorstep.

  Finally he broke the silence. “Nice outfit.” The corner of his mouth jerked up into a half smile.

  I looked down. Just my luck he’d show up the day I throw on yellow duck pajamas.

  “Thanks,” I said with as much dignity as a grown woman wearing duckies could.

  “Can I come in?”

  I stepped back, hesitating only a minute. The way we’d last left things was somewhere in that vast limbo land of maybe-relationships. I mean, he’d seen me one inch from naked and I already knew his condom size. We weren’t exactly strangers. Though the fact he hadn’t called me in weeks didn’t exactly make us a hot item either.

  So I opted for a cool, casual air of indifference, leaning against my kitchen counter and crossing my arms over my ducky jammies as I pretended his sexy stubble and Russell Crowe build had no effect on me whatsoever.

  “So what are you doing here?” I squeaked out, wishing my voice was just a wee bit better at pretending.

  “You didn’t return my call.”

  “Me? Me? Me!” I sputtered. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks!”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Too busy to make a piddley little phone call?”

  “Work.” He spit out the single syllable then tightened his jaw, doing his silent cop routine. I imagined it was a really effecti
ve look for interrogating a suspect, but it wasn’t winning him any brownie points with me.

  “Uh huh. And so, what, your schedule just suddenly freed up this morning so you thought you’d pop over and harass me about my choice of sleepwear?”

  “You know, you’re kind of grumpy in the morning.”

  My eyes narrowed into fine slits. “You should see me after coffee. I really hit my stride then.”

  He grinned, his face creasing into his big bad wolf smile. The one that made me worry my panties might be across the room with one little huff and puff. I shifted my stance, reminding myself this was the man who had driven me to Joanie Loves Chachi.

  “Actually,” he said. “I took a personal day. Someone,” he gave me a pointed look, “left a message about gun shots and dead bodies on my voicemail. Kind of makes a guy worry. Especially knowing you.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny. It was one boob, okay? I popped one freaking implant and suddenly I’m Calamity Jane.”

  His mouth quirked up again. “Why don’t you just tell me about this phone call, huh?”

  I hesitated. Yes, I had called him in the first place, but this whole smirky slash sexy slash casual-and-not-even-hinting-at-the-fact-we’d-been-nearly-naked-together thing he had going on was starting to irritate me.

  But the way I saw it, I had two options. One, tell him to go to hell for not calling once in six weeks, then having the nerve to show up while I’m in ducky jammies. Or two, swallow my pride, make a pot of coffee, and play the message for him. (I ignored the voice in my head screaming to go with option three, jump his bones right here and now, you idiot! Before he disappears again for God knows how long.)

  As much as telling him to go to hell sounded fun, I figured option two was the most productive. So, I set my Mr. Coffee to perk, tossed in some French roast, and played Ramirez the message.

  He listened with his unreadable cop face in place. I bit my lip, half hoping he’d say it was obviously a car backfiring even though the more I listened to it the more likely Dana’s theory of forty-five Berettas was seeming.

  “So?” I asked. “What do you think?”

  He sat down on my futon and rubbed a hand over his face. “He said his name was Larry on the tape. Larry what?”

  “Springer. Why?”

  Ramirez did a deep sigh, his face still a solid wall of Bad Cop. “Nothing. Look, it’s probably a prank phone call.”

  “But we should check it out, right?”

  “We?” He gave me a look like I’d just proposed a June wedding, all trace of his previous humor gone. “No, you shouldn’t check out anything. If you hear from him again, have the police check it out.”

  “But if he’s dead, he can’t very well call again. Don’t you think someone should investigate?”

  “Someone, maybe. You, definitely not.”

  I was beginning to take this personally.

  “I already have his number narrowed down to two possible Larry Springers in Vegas.” I showed him my list. “Dana’s checking addresses for me.”

  “Addresses?!” Ramirez’s volume shot up about three notches. “Wait, you’re not actually thinking of going to Vegas to look for this guy, are you?”

  “Well, I hadn’t really thought about it, but he is my fa-”

  “No! No, no, no, no,” Ramirez stood up, shaking his head. “You are staying right here. Look, if that is a gunshot on that tape, I don’t want you getting involved. The Vegas PD will handle it. I absolutely forbid you from setting foot in Las Vegas.”

  I blinked. “Forbid me?”

  Okay, so here’s the thing: I hadn’t, in fact, been planning a Vegas trip. As much as the thought of my father lying dead in a ditch bothered me, I wasn’t exactly ready to come face to face with the man that had abandoned me without so much as a birthday card for the last twenty-six years. I’d figured once I had a couple of addresses for the police to check out, I would hand the whole thing over to the Las Vegas cops and hope for the best. But the sight of Ramirez towering over me, having the unmitigated gall to forbid me to do anything after pulling a disappearing act for the last six weeks had visions of blackjack tables dancing in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, did you just say you forbid me from going to Vegas?”

  Ramirez rubbed a hand over his face and muttered a curse. “I am asking you very nicely to stay home. And since I’m a police officer, I think you might want to listen to me.”

  “Well, I’d say that since the message is on my machine, it is my father who called, and last time I checked it wasn’t illegal to visit one’s own father, I can pretty well decide if I’m going to Vegas or not all by myself.”

  “I’m warning you, Maddie…”

  “Warning me?” I took a step closer, jutting my chest out in a display of mock bravery. “And what exactly are you going to do to stop me?”

  He grabbed me by the shoulders. He looked me square in the eye. Then he planted his lips on mine.

  For about half a second I was in total shock. I’d like to say I pushed him off, smacked him across the face as I’m pretty sure he deserved, and told him where he could stick his ‘warning.’ But considering I’d been practicing unintentional celibacy longer than any woman should have to, I melted into a puddle of spineless jelly instead. I suddenly really, really wished I’d had the presence of mind to wear some sexy negligee to bed last night.

  Once he’d thoroughly engaged my hormones into overdrive, he stepped back, giving me the puppy dog eyes. “Maddie, please stay away from Las Vegas.”

  “No fair.”

  He grinned.

  “That was a really dirty trick.” I cleared my throat. “And I’m not falling for it.” Much.

  Ramirez sighed, shaking his head at me. “Okay, tell you what, I’ll make a couple of calls to the Vegas PD. If anything turns up, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

  “Now you’re just trying to humor me, aren’t you?”

  He did that sigh thing again. “A little.”

  “It’s the duckies, right? They make me seem a little crazy, right?”

  “No, honey, you do that all on your own.”

  I did a straight-arm point toward the door. “Out. I have to brush my teeth.”

  Ramirez sighed and shook his head again. “Look, just promise me you won’t go to Vegas, Maddie?”

  I fixed him with my best imitation of my Irish Catholic grandmother’s evil eye. “Promise me you’ll call?”

  To which I got nothing but his cop face in return.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  And I’m proud to say that at that, I did, in fact, slam the door. Hard enough to rattle my front window in its frame.

  Men. One minute they have their tongues down your throat and the next they’re forbidding you from meeting your own father and criticizing your fashion choices. Forbid this, pal! I aimed a really unladylike hand gesture at the door.

  I poured myself another cup of coffee, hoping the French roast would wipe the memory of Ramirez’s kiss out of my mouth, and dialed Dana’s cell.

  “Hey,” I said when she answered. “You busy?”

  “I’m on my way to an audition for a baby food commercial. Why, what’s up?”

  “Did you get a hold of Verizon Ted last night?”

  “Uh huh. I’m actually just leaving his place,” Dana said, giggling into the phone.

  Great, was everyone getting some except me?

  “And?”

  “Did I ever tell you about that thing Ted does with his tongue when we-”

  “What about the phone numbers?” I said, breaking off before I started to regret sending Ramirez away.

  “Oh. Right. Uh… hang on a sec.” I heard Dana flipping through her day runner. “Here they are. Ted gave me addresses for both numbers. One in Henderson and the other in south Vegas. You think we should call the police now?”

  Actually, I’d had it with police that morning. Sure, that would be the logical thing to do. But if I had one more snide man with a badge humor me I think I was g
oing to pop a blood vessel. Besides, after my encounter with Ramirez it was a wake up call that this was the sort of thing the cops would laugh at behind their donuts and coffee. They weren’t going to take a maybe gun shot reported from a hundred miles away any more seriously than Ramirez took a lady in duck pajamas. If my dad really was in trouble, I had a feeling that by the time the cops got around to finding him, it would be too late.

  “Dana, what does your schedule look like for the next couple of days?” I asked.

  More day runner flipping. “I’ve got a class with Rico tonight – Your Body, the Ultimate Weapon.”

  Luckily Dana couldn’t see my eye roll this time.

  “But I’m pretty much free tomorrow. Why?”

  I took a deep breath. Did I really want to do this? I weighed the idea of coming face to face with the man who’d been largely myth my whole life versus letting Ramirez think he could actually ‘warn’ me off. I scrunched my eyes up tight and hoped I was doing the right ting.

  “Wanna go to Vegas with me?”

  Dana did a high pitched squeal on the other end that I’m sure had every dog from here to San Diego howling in protest. “Ohmigod, road trip!”

  I held the phone away from my ear. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Yes, totally! It’s been like, forever since I went to Vegas. Last time I was there was for that Lil Dawg music video and we totally spent the whole time out in the desert and I didn’t even get to play like one slot machine. Ohmigod, this is going to be so fun. I’m like totally bringing all my laundry quarters. I heard they even have slot machines in the gas stations, Maddie. The gas stations!”

  “Meet me here tomorrow. Say nine?”

  “Totally!” Dana yelled. “Vegas, baby! Ohmigod!”

  Oh my God was right. I just hoped I could do this.

  * * *

  As soon as I hung up, I booted up my laptop and scanned Cheap Rates dot com for a hotel room. I did an eenie meenie minie mo between the Venetian and the New York, New York. In the end, the $69.99 a night room special at the New York won out. I booked a double before I could change my mind. I then spent the rest of the morning cleaning my apartment (in case any other uninvited visitors showed up) and trying not to think about the look on Mom’s face when I told her I was going to meet Larry. I was starting to feel bad about the way I’d left things with her, both of us squaring off like stubborn little Napoleons. And I did feel kind of sneaky taking off for Vegas without even telling her. So, after a lunch of a fairly healthy peanut butter (lots of protein, right?) and potato chip (potatoes are vegetables, which are totally healthy) sandwich, I hopped in my Jeep and made the trip back into Beverly Hills.